


pointless curses nonsense verses

by transblurry



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Just read, M/M, but not really, tw for suicide attempt???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transblurry/pseuds/transblurry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was ill, crazy, flawed, worthless. </p><p>He didn't deserve saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pointless curses nonsense verses

**Author's Note:**

> The original is about jay's album characters so if you wanna read that it's on my ig @transboyblurry

It was all pointless. 

 

They didn't care. 

 

No one cared. 

 

Not about someone like him. 

 

He was ill, crazy, flawed, worthless. 

 

He didn't deserve saving. 

 

They all just thought he was a burden. 

 

Hiding their disgust behind fake smiles. 

 

He knew what they thought about him. 

 

Even though they wouldn't voice it. 

 

He knew. 

 

He stared at the rope in his hands, blinking back tears. 

 

He let out a sob. 

 

He didn't want any of this anymore. 

 

He couldn't do it. 

 

No one was there to save him. 

 

Good. 

 

Stepping onto the chair, tears flowing out of his eyes, he tied the rope around his throat. 

 

He took a deep breath. 

 

One last shaking inhale. 

 

Suddenly something gripped his wrist and he shrieked. 

 

His eyes snapped open. 

 

Mocha eyes staring back. 

 

Pale hands gently untying the rope from his throat. 

 

He was in shock. 

 

He couldn't do anything. 

 

The hands pulled him down. 

 

Mocha eyes so so sad. 

 

They pulled him down. 

 

Pulling him against something solid. 

 

Solid but soft. 

 

Comforting. 

 

A beating heart. 

 

He sobbed. 

 

More tears. 

 

Pale hands running through his hair. 

 

Soft but low voice speaking. 

 

No. Not speaking. 

 

Singing. 

 

He cried. 

 

A long time he did nothing else but cry.

 

The voice not stopping once. 

 

The pale hands running through his hair.

 

He fell asleep like that. 

 

The next morning the singing voice was gone. 

 

The pale hands no longer running through his hair. 

 

A warm feeling remained in his chest. 

 

They didn't talk about this again. 

 

It was a silent agreement. 

 

But he knew the mocha eyes, the pale hands and the singing voice were there for him.


End file.
